


Open Wounds

by FandomFreak222



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Crime Fighting, Eventual Romance, F/M, Family Secrets, Fluff, I Don't Even Know, Insanity, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Relationship(s), Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-09-14 18:49:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9198389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FandomFreak222/pseuds/FandomFreak222
Summary: Bruce Wayne awakes cold and alone in the small cell of Arkham Asylum. He has no recollection of how he got there or what he did. He meets a girl, who he knows only as Haven, and she guides him through the process of it. And helps him get out.After the Children of Arkham begin there rise, Bruce suits up as Batman once again, joined by the quick-witted and badass Haven.Their relationship is odd, as they still don't know if they can trust each other.But, when things start falling apart, Bruce and Haven must forget their differences and work together in one final attempt at keeping Gotham safe.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I love Batman. I think it is obvious by now. Lately, I've been obsessed with the Telltale Batman game, and the episode where Bruce is put in Arkham made me want to write something based upon it. And episode five. And some random parts.  
> Shh.  
> I'll work on it.  
> But, on a serious note, the game is cool.  
> I'll update this as much as I can, but I start college again tomorrow, which sucks.  
> I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it.  
> Have a nice day/night/evening. :)

Small bangs echo in Bruce's mind as he slowly feels himself entering the world of the awake once again. Bruce's head is swimming as he forces his eyes open. He is greeted by the white-washed ceiling of an unknown room. Grunting softly, he sits up, head aching dully. The throbbing behind his eyes makes him wince one more, fingers lightly brushing the pale skin of his forehead. Looking around with bleary vision, he sees a small oak dresser and a window, light pooling onto the floor. Nothing more, nothing less. A brush of cold air makes a shiver go down his back. Head slowly starting to clear, he looks down and realises he is just in his light grey boxers. Feeling oddly vulnerable, Bruce sighs, swallowing nervously. He blinks a few times, wondering where the hell he is. His vision clearing drastically, his senses becoming more alert, he looks around once more. Taking in his surroundings. The room he woke up in is quite small; six by six, he estimates. The bed has an ugly rough green sheet covering a greyish white mattress. A pillow lies near the dull silver head rests. Bruce rests his head in his hands, trying to work out where the hell he is. Nothing comes to mind. The walls are patterned with slate grey and white tiles; some broken and cracked, some not. Pipes line the wall near the big metal door. Warning bells ring off in Bruce's brain. That cannot be good. It's like a... Jail cell. But, worse. Dirtier. The cell is bitterly cold. A small grimy radiator in the corner, and Bruce knows it isn't on. He would feel it in the air. He sighs heavily. How the hell did he get here? He doesn't remember anything. He must have done something to end up in this place. He inhales, smelling the stale air. He grimaces again, wondering what the smell could be. He can't make it out; and he doesn't want to. A light illuminates the room, the artificial rays glaring down onto the polished, slightly grimy flooring of the small cell. He exhales in a loud sigh once more. 

"What is this place?" He mutters aloud, his voice lower than normal, his eyes still on the ground. He rubs his eyes with one hand, and racks his brain, trying to think of what he did to get here. Or why he's here. Or, better yet, _how_ he got here. Does Alfred know? Is Alfred okay? 

"Well, well," A female voice echoes from across the hall. Bruce jumps, startled. He is put on knife edge. The voice is young, but not too young. Sounds around his age. Light, soft. He stands up and walks towards the door, slowly. Heart racing so hard, blood thumps past his ears, he reaches the door and peers out. Another door is across from his, exactly like the one he is behind. Big, boring and grey. Bolted shut from the outside. A girl stands there, her bright emerald green eyes catching his attention. She is pretty. Pale skinned, long ginger hair. Her eyes burn into his his and he goes colder than he was before. They hold nothing. Bruce never thought he'd see eyes as... Emotionless as hers are. She gives an impassive laugh. 

"Where am I?" He asks again, tone snappy and harsh. She glares at him. He swallows, suddenly... Uncomfortable. He feels the annoyance coming from her. He feels like he should just shut his face and let her talk. She has an air of silent confidence that puts Bruce's to shame. He sighs and bows his head slightly, gesturing in a silent apology and for her to answer his annoyed response in her own time. 

"You really have no idea?" She deadpans, eyes empty. He nods honestly. 

"No, I just woke up here." He replies quietly. "What is this place?" She chuckles and it sends a wave of fear through him. It was a creepy laugh and it sets Bruce on even more of an edge. 

"Oh, honey," She breathes, her eyes lighting up in what Bruce can only assume is sympathy. "You're in Arkham Asylum." Bruce sucks in a breath, leaning against the cold metal of the door. What? Arkham? What did he do? He rests his forehead on the bar and the girl flicks a strand of hair from her face. 

"What's your name?" He asks, wanting to know. She may seem cold, but her sanity is clear. He can see that she is sane. Not like Dent; not like Oswald. She is perfectly normal. But, looks can be deceiving. He knows this. But, he just _knows_ that this mysterious young woman is not supposed to be here. Bruce feels it. The woman snorts. 

"My name is none of your concern," She responds coldly. "Inmates call me Haven." Before Bruce can ask the question of why, the girl he now knows as Haven drifts back into the darkness of her cell. Even though she is gone, he can still feel those apathetic but alluring eyes on him. He sighs again, retreating back to his bed. He sits on the rusty cot, the springs squeaking in complaint as he does so. He rests his chin on his hands and starts to think over things. The questions need answering. And right now would be good.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haven ponders her past as she awaits the doctor to open the doors and let her roam around in the breakout room.  
> When some inmates bother Bruce, Haven intervenes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter One is here, ladies and gents. It took so long to write and I have no idea why. I kept writing it, reading it, deleting it and repeating. I guess because I thought it was lower quality than most of the other stuff I write.  
> Writer's block is such a bitch.  
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter. I'll have the next up as soon as possible.  
> Have a nice day/afternoon/night. :)

"Doctor's makin' his rounds soon," A muffled voice comes from outside. Haven ignores the voice, her hands splayed out like stars on the floor of her dimly lit cell, the light switched on. As soon as that Bruce Wayne was settled into his thoughts, she deemed it safe. She wonders what a guy like him is doing in a place like this, as she stretches her legs over her head, arms aching slightly from holding up her body weight. Her ribs jut out slightly as she curls her legs to meet near her forehead. Haven ponders, taking deep breaths in and out. Bruce was literally dragged into that cell by three doctors. Kicking and screaming. It got some attention. Including Haven's. Haven is pretty sure Bruce doesn't belong here in Arkham. He was acting the way she did when she was brought in a few years back. Coolly. Nervously. She didn't know why her parent's dropped her in this hellhole, but she never will. They died a few weeks later. Maybe they did it to protect her. Haven can only wonder. All she knows is that Thomas Wayne was somehow involved in it. Her parent's death, that is. Her dad and him were close friends. Her father was always mean-spirited. Possessive. Thomas was always intervening when her father's rages kicked in. He shook her so hard once, Haven got whiplash. Martha Wayne, that lovable woman, and her mother were shrieking for him to stop. When he finally dropped Haven, she could only sit on the floor and cry. Whine about how her neck hurt. Her mother, Willow, was heartbroken that Martha and Thomas had to witness his temper flare. Haven was happy to take his abuse some days; it kept him from harming her mother. Willow always wanted to leave; she talked about it to Martha one day. Haven heard it through the thin walls of her room. She wanted her too; her father was getting worse. Willow did; but Haven was left in Arkham. Without a reason. Without a word. Tears prick her eyes and Haven slaps a hand over her mouth to stop a small whimper escaping her lips. Sadness is unnecessary. The loss of her family hit her harder than a bullet train. When she first heard the tragic news of her parent's murder, she hit the floor. Some inmates showed sympathy, some didn't. Some were sad with her, some laughed. Some consoled her, some mocked her. Haven knows the death was nothing to do with her. It shouldn't bother her as much as it still does. But, Haven also knows she'll be forever taunted by the past that cannot be changed nor undone. Haven takes a deep breath, hearing the lock to her door slide open. Don't let them see it. She sighs out the tears and turns to meet the doctor, eyes as cold and as empty as ever. 

"Mornin' Haven," The middle aged doctor greets rudely. His head is balding, his eyes are sunken into his head and his fat stomach spills out over his greyish white trousers, his shirt stretched by the weight of his abdomen. Haven says nothing in response and the doctor tuts. Most hate it when Haven does this. They try to be somewhat nice and she doesn't acknowledge it. Haven would rather not. Some of the doctors here are corrupt. Haven has seen what goes down. Inmates pay doctors for weapons so that they can beat down on a weaker inmate or an inmate that has pissed them off in some way. Haven got her nickname for a reason. It's been used some many times, she'd rather be called it than by her true name. The name she was given by her loving parents at birth. Before things changed. Before shit got way to real. Before she ended up in this hellhole for nothing. Willow dropped her like she was nothing. With no explanation, Haven was abandoned. She supposes she'll never get an answer from the people she was meant to trust. Y'know, because they're _dead_ and Haven will never be able to know the answer to her question of why. Why did they leave her here? She was only a kid. Dumped on the doorstep of an asylum. Taken in by douchebag doctors and treat worse than shit. As she grew, the more her emotions faltered; the more they suppressed themselves. Haven got her nickname and she was fine with it. She guesses it's because she defends the weak; challenges the more corrupt orderlies of the psychiatric hospital. Haven isn't afraid. Not anymore. There is nothing to be afraid of anymore. She can kick ass. She can speak her mind. Watching the doc with her attentive green eyes. He shifts uncomfortably and scuttles out. Haven rolls her eyes. Leaving her cell, she hesitates, hearing Bruce's voice. 

"I'm so sick of this!" He bellows, surprising Haven. She didn't expect to hear him sound so pissed off. "I'm not my father. Hurting me with gain you nothing." Haven creeps back to his cell and presses herself against the wall next to that damn door, peeking through the bars. Two tall, scrawny inmates tower over him. One has a black object in his hand. Haven narrows her eyes. Haven has seen that before. It's a taser. Orderlies are only supposed to carry those weapons. A patient shouldn't have his hands on one of those. It just just speaks to Haven that one of the orderlies was paid off. Meaning, Bruce is going to get his ass whipped. Watching with careful eyes, she sees the first man throw a punch. Surprisingly, Bruce ducks under it and shoves the man away from him. The taser bounces across the tiled floor of the cell and Haven clenches her jaw. If only the door was open... She tilts her head, eyeing the lock. She goes back into her cell. Skids to her mattress and pulls a trusty hair pin she had. Haven shouldn't have it, but a kind doctor let her keep it. It is patterned with a pink flower. Her mother gave it to her before she left her. Doctor Leland was nice enough to see the meaning in it and let Haven keep hold of it; as long as it was out of sight from other inmates and doctors. It's only used to pick locks on special occasions. She can't let Bruce get stunned and beaten. Like, come on, his dad did protect her from her father's temper. She owns it to him. Well... Maybe. Haven tip toes out of her cell and kneels in front of the door, checking of the coast is clear before sticking the pin in the keyhole. A zapping sound echoes and Bruce yells out. Haven narrows her eyes. The lock clicks and she stands up. She pulls the door open with ease and stands, folding her arms in an annoyed fashion.

"Sing for us, pretty bird," The first inmate snarls. Feet drive into Bruce as he curls inwards on himself, trying to get his bearings and defend himself. Haven clenches her fists and grabs the first inmate's shoulder. He lets out a confused 'huh', before Haven spins him around and punches him square in the nose. He screeches, falling against the wall, hands clutching his broken nose. The second snaps at Haven, charging at her. Haven ducks under his swinging fist, hers jutting into his abdomen. The air leaves him in a rush, and he slumps slightly. She shoves him off. Another figure joins the fun. John Doe grabs the collar of the man's shirt and slams his head straight of the wall. His green hair falls over his face, his sickly grin making Haven uncomfortable. His skin is so pale, even Snow White would be jealous. Haven grabs the other one, the only one conscious and glares at him. 

"H-Haven," He stumbles over his words. Haven slams him off the wall, and he yelps in pain. 

"This is my asylum. I help the weak and beat the wicked. You wanna mess with this rich boy? You gotta mess with this bitch first. Got it?" She says quietly. He goes still, and she feels goosebumps form on his skin. Weird. When she puts on the cold, quiet voice, people always emit fear. It's only a voice, like Jesus, calm down. The man nods and she lets go of his shirt. He presses himself against the wall and Haven steps away.

"Get the _fuck_ outta here." She barks. He jumps a mile and scuttles off, looking like a kicked puppy. Haven sees John talking to Bruce and she shoves past him. Offering Wayne a hand, she makes sure John Doe cannot see him. John Doe is not to be trusted. Haven can read people well. He isn't a good guy. At all. In the slightest. He is bad news. He is the only person more mysterious than Haven herself. No-one knows how he got here, no one knows why he's here. It's strange. And, he is clearly unbalanced. Some days he'll act like Haven; cool, collected. Others, he'll laugh like a maniac and be a total dickbag to everyone. Bruce takes her hand. Haven pulls him to his feet, with no effort at all. He takes a deep breath, rubbing his neck. 

"Thank you," He says. Haven turns and snatches the taser up. She stands in the doorway of the cell, before turning her head slightly.

"Save it, Wayne." She replies in the same quiet voice. She leaves and John lets on a disturbing giggle.

"Isn't she something, eh?" He asks. Bruce only stares at the place she last stood. Pondering on how he can talk her into being ally.


End file.
